U is for UV
by Cascade Waters
Summary: Quantify this. Sixth in my letter chain.


U is for UV

by firechild

Rated T

Spoilers: None of which I can think.

Warnings: See past links.

Disclaimer: I've gone through about fourteen of my rolaids tonight and so now own less than half a bottle. I also own Detective Galvin and one of the gray dudes.

A/N: Sixth in my letter chain.

-----

_I'm coming for you._

_I am almost there. _

_I can almost reach you. _

_I can almost touch you._

_And when I touch you..._

_You will be mine._

_Your breath._

_Your life._

_Your fire._

_Mine._

_You are my calling._

_You are my destiny._

_You are my fire._

_Be calm._

_Hold still._

_I'm coming for you._

-----

As the trio advanced, with agonizing slowness, around the edge of the lobby and toward the last known location of at least one of their aptly-but-ominously-dubbed "Caspers," a part of Agent Eppes's mind refocused on his surroundings, his complete confidence in the skills of Reeves and the detective coexisting with the leader's need to cover his people. Each set of images that registered in his brain corresponded with a thud of his heart, filing away in his brain almost like freeze frames. He saw the faces, ranging from curious to terrified at the series of events; he saw the officers and hotel security working to maintain some semblence of order; he saw Reeves and Galvin, splashes of khaki and purple, moving in tandem at the edge of his peripheral vision. As they finally neared the alcove, Eppes noticed the concerted movements of several uniforms toward his location from different points, like spokes retracting.

And he saw a virtual tank of a man, middle-aged or just past, his slacks and polo shirt as gray as his hair, his eyes as cold and hard as stone, angry purpose wrapped around him like an aura as he moved toward the alcove from one side.

"UV, ten o'clock," he slid to the women out of the corner of his mouth. He caught the "Check" on Reeves's breath, and was almost amused when he barely heard Galvin ask the profiler to clarify.

"UV- unquantified variable." If Galvin wondered why they used math terminology in their lingo, she kept her questions to herself.

The next thirty seconds changed everything.

Eppes couldn't see through the shadows at the threshold of the alcove from his angle, and he knew that reaching the space before the suspect would be a challenge, as the man had had less ground to cover. He seemed oblivious to the agents' approach, but Eppes had learned that appearances could be not just decieving but dangerous.

So when he rounded the corner in a half-crouch, weapon at the ready, and saw the back of Agent Sinclair, he didn't allow himself the sigh of relief that wanted out. Going on gut instinct, Eppes signalled to the women to keep silent as they came around, and was satisfied that they, too, kept their reactions to themselves when they saw what he did.

The dark-skinned agent was standing at the ready, his profile canted slightly more toward the alcove than to the lobby but his shoulders at just such an angle that Eppes surmised that Sinclair was keeping his ears open. The Bronx native seemed fine for the most part, standing straight, but while Eppes couldn't see Sinclair's right hand, his left rubbed at the back of his head, and Eppes didn't have a clear enough view from his vantage point to see the condition of any wound that might be present. Eppes was hesitant to announce his presence because he couldn't see the whole of the situation; he was still trying to assess, without blowing what cover he had, when Sinclair's left hand dropped to his side and gave the sign to hold position. Eppes nearly smiled--whatever else had happened, his former partner was still on his game.

Out of the corner of his own eye, Eppes spotted the man in the gray shirt closing in on their position--and then spotted Reeves as she thwarted the suspect smoothly. Eppes sensed movement at his back and guessed that Galvin had taken up Sinclair's guard position at the mouth of the alcove. Able to turn his attention back to the scene before him, Eppes shifted closer to Sinclair and levered himself up to peek over the younger man's left shoulder.

What he saw had him sighting down his gun over the same shoulder and wondering why Sinclair was simply standing there with his weapon holstered.

Agent Granger, thankfully alive for the moment, stood toward the back of the modest space, facing the lobby, next to the door for the stairs to the old boiler room, but if he'd noticed the arrival of his supervisor, he gave no indication. The young agent seemed to be ignoring all but what was right in front of him.

He was locked in a close stance--too close, as Eppes couldn't see what was held between them--with a man who had to be at least 6'5" and no less than 215lbs., most of it hard muscle, judging by the rear view of his back and shoulders. This man also wore gray, the hue of his dress shirt underlining the silver sprinkled liberally through his light brown hair that pegged him as middle-aged. He stood inches from Agent Granger, his right hand out of view and his left locked in a solid grip just above Granger's right elbow.

Eppes took some comfort in the fact that Granger looked angry and... exasperated, which was a fair sign that he wasn't seriously hurt. The senior agent was about to speak up when he realized that Granger was talking, through his teeth, and Eppes strained to hear.

"...kill me, but you're just gonna have to save it, 'cause just now you're surrounded by Federal agents."

"And you really believe that would stop me?" The suspect's soft voice was almost soothing in a way that Eppes elected not to contemplate.

"No, I'm not that dense, but I don't think either of us is really interested in some tacky bloodbath, so if you know what's good for you, you'll drop it--_now_."

"Watch yourself--I still have the upper hand here, and I don't think I like your tone."

"Oh, really?" Granger's voice spilled over with sarcasm. "'Cause _I_ don't think _I_ like any of this. Tell ya what--standing here like a kid waiting for punishment is really gettin' old, so why don't you back off and, I don't know, play with your camping equipment or someth--"

Granger never got a chance to finish that remark. The hand that had gripped his arm flew up to vise his jaw, the suspect closing the inches between them, his smooth voice dropping to a dangerous and somehow (as it skittered across Eppes's nerves and made him shudder) familiar growl. "Enough! I'll--"

"Wouldn't do that if I were you, pal." Eppes voice was deadly in its own right as he cleared a still-unresponsive Sinclair to touch the tip of his gun to the center of the suspect's back. He was surprised to hear Sinclair whispering frantically for him to stand down, but he was focused on Granger and the assailant, noting the way Granger's eyes widened at his lead's actions, for the first time showing fear. "FBI. Drop it and step away from my agent."

In a day full of unexpected twists, before Eppes could complete the short order, both of the suspect's hands came up, open, to clutch Granger's upper arms, and he shifted his bulk to completely cover the younger man's frame, forming an effective barrier despite the young agent's protests and attempts to break free.

"FBI! I know you heard me. Drop...your...weapon...and...step...away...from...my...agent. _Now_."

Eppes angrily brushed off Sinclair's hand, only thinking vaguely that there could be a reason to heed his former partner's warnings.

Instead of complying, the man in gray held his position as a living wall, turning his head to the side to get the gunman into his peripheral vision. "I think we have a misunderstanding here." He was heading back toward soothing, but his voice carried an edge of something that could have been fear.

Eppes's lip curled. "Oh, no, I think you understood me perfectly. I don't really want to have to shoot you at this range, but I can do it, and I can take you out without hitting Granger, so I'd suggest you step down and put your hands on your head, while you still have one." Though Eppes had meant every word, he hoped this would end in relative peace; Granger knew that his lead could come through on the threat without hurting him, but he was shaking what Eppes could see of his head over the man's shoulder.

The suspect reclaimed his attention by speaking. "No, I think _you_ haven't understood _me_. I don't know who you are, or if you're even really with the FBI, but I won't be releasing him and you won't be getting near him with that thing." The man's voice had gone as steely as the color of his clothing, and he turned his head to face Granger again. Eppes didn't have time to think about what the suspect had meant by his last statement, or what he intended to do now, before the man spoke again. "I'm not interested in hurting you at the moment, but if you try anything, I will take you apart."

Eppes tightened his hands on his weapon, baring his teeth and finding a firing angle, but in the next couple of moments several things happened.

Giving up on trying to get his lead's attention subtly, Sinclair stepped forward and reached for his supervisor's gun; Galvin, who had obviously been listening while standing guard, started to pivot into the alcove, drawing her own service revolver; two uniformed officers stepped forward to fill the gap she was leaving in the mouth of the alcove; and Eppes heard a muffled curse from behind the man in gray just before a blazer-clad arm came up and around the suspect's neck and shoulders and spun him abruptly with a little aid from a well-placed FBI foot, taking the suspect by surprise.

Eppes's eyes widened, his finger twitching slightly on the trigger of his firearm as his jaw dropped and he gasped at what he saw before him--just as Granger spoke, the exasperation now leading in his voice.

"I know I'm not always your favorite little minion, Don, but I'd be sort of grateful if you wouldn't shoot my father."

-----


End file.
